


let me see you move like you're from the rebellion

by alsoalsowik



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: (yep we're making this a thing), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dirty Dancing: Havana Nights AU, F/M, Imperial Jyn, Street Dancing, Undercover Spy Cassian, god how do i even describe this mess LOL, tags and characters will be updated when necessary, with a healthy dash of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-19
Updated: 2017-03-03
Packaged: 2018-09-25 16:23:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9829232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alsoalsowik/pseuds/alsoalsowik
Summary: Jyn Erso gets uprooted from her cushy life on Coruscant when her father is relocated to the Imperial planet of Lothal. Cassian Andor, an Alliance Intelligence officer, happens to be stationed there to orchestrate an uprising. Jyn runs into him and other rebels dancing in the street one day and her entire world shifts. She has to decide between family loyalty and moral duty -- between continuing down the sheltered path that's been carved for her or breaking free and learning to move like a rebel.in short, the Havana Nights AU in the Star Wars universe that's been living in my head for the past month.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> FINALLY. I've been working on this on and off for all of February so far. I'm going to update as frequently as I can (every week is my goal), but please bear with me! I _am_ a college student, after all. I hope that you all enjoy reading (the M rating will be earned, I promise!) and, if you're interested, there's a [playlist](http://baenakinskywalker.tumblr.com/post/157298048071/let-me-see-you-move-like-youre-from-the) that I've compiled while writing this.

Lothal is nothing like Coruscant. Capital City is a cheap imitation of the city that sprawls across Coruscant’s surface and extends so high above its ground. There, everything gleams in the sunlight during the day and sparkles like the stars after dusk. The entire planet lights up a thousand different colors at any given moment, breathing life into everything. It’s bustling and exciting and _home._

 

Or, it _was_ home. 

 

Coruscant was home until Galen Erso came home one afternoon and announced the family was being relocated to Lothal, effective immediately. He’d had no reason why, just orders from Orson Krennic, his superior officer and the closest thing Jyn’s ever had to an uncle. 

 

Now, Jyn supposes, home is Lothal, even though it doesn’t much feel like it. Capital City is luxurious, but only at the very center, where they’re staying. They’d arrived in the outskirts, looking more like a rural farm planet than a high-profile Imperial asset. A tram brought them into the city proper, passing through farms and forests and so many places Jyn had only ever read about on her datapad during school hours. 

 

The hotel the Empire is putting them up in is nice, at least. It doesn’t compare to the large apartment on Coruscant, but Jyn doubts anything will. She’s got her own room with a window looking down into a courtyard where various senators’ wives spend their time sunbathing and eyeing the help. Her room is fine — the view, on the other hand, is troubling. 

 

Everything on Lothal is so _fake._

 

The hotel, the city, _everything_ seems constructed to make people feel like they’re living better lives than they are. 

 

Frankly, Jyn wants nothing to do with it.

 

Her parents, on the other hand, think experiencing all Lothal has to offer will do Jyn some good. 

 

They all but force her out of her room on her third day trapped inside. Jyn humors them, deciding to sit by the pool with her datapad. It’s too cool out to swim and she’d rather be reading, anyway. There’s a report on rebel insurrection that Krennic’s been bugging her to read. Now seems as good a time as any. 

 

Half an hour into her reading time, a crash grabs Jyn’s attention. She looks up to see a man fuming about what looks like a mess of spilled drinks beside him. He’s got a good fifty pounds on the waiter he’s yelling at and for a minute Jyn thinks she might witness an honest to god fight. 

 

Lucky for the waiter, a woman comes up and rests one well manicured hand on the screaming man’s shoulder. He calms, but Jyn distinctly hears a, “And don’t think I’ll be paying for this!” before the couple slinks off to one of the many cabanas that line the perimeter of the pool. 

 

She sighs, setting the datapad down. If there’s one thing Jyn’s never understood, it’s being an ass to the working class. She follows the waiter back to the bar where he’s reaching for a mop and bucket, no doubt to clean up that aggressive oaf’s mess. 

 

“Do you need help?” Jyn asks, hoping he isn’t startled. 

 

He clearly isn’t, judging by the way he says _no_ without missing a beat. 

 

“Are you sure?” she asks again. 

 

“This is my job,” the waiter says, still not facing her. 

 

“Oh.” He turns around, mop in hand, and Jyn gets a better look at his face. He looks to be a little older than her with a stern face and strong jaw. His eyes, she notes, are soft brown — younger looking than the rest of him. “At least let me pay for those,” Jyn offers, nodding in the direction of the spilled drinks. 

 

“Not necessary,” he replies, looking more annoyed than anything.

 

“Ah,” Jyn starts, “I’ll just…leave you to it, then.”

 

“That would be best,” he says. 

 

Something about that sours Jyn’s mood. She spends the next two days refusing to leave the hotel room. “There’s nothing worth my time out there,” she tells her parents. 

 

 

 

 

Eventually, Jyn’s mother gets fed up with Jyn moping inside. That's why Jyn is where she is now: thoroughly lost outside, without a datapad or comm to get in touch with her parents or hotel management or _anyone_ who might be able to tell her where the hell she is. 

 

Jyn figures she’s made it into the outskirts of the city, judging by the rapid decrease in curb appeal and apparent structural integrity of the houses lining the street. Half an hour ago, she was surrounded by the kind of opulence usually reserved for the lake homes of Naboo. Now, it’s more like walking through the lowest level of Coruscant, all tiny, cramped structures and _so many_ people everywhere. 

 

They spill out of houses into the street, congregating in a dozen different alleys and intersections, breathing life into the air. Behind them, Jyn spots posters advertising the Rebellion, some in her native tongue and some in a language she doesn’t understand. No matter the language, the stormtrooper with a bright red slash through its helmet gets the point across well enough.

 

She knows Lothal is under imperial control, making those posters _dangerous._ The kind of danger her mother warned her to avoid, in fact. But it was _her_ idea to explore the planet, so she walks on.

 

When Jyn rounds a corner, she hears music. It’s the loud kind that melts in her ears, drawing her closer and closer until she’s there at the source. 

 

In this case, the source is a plaza shoved between shops and houses. A fountain, nearly a miniature of the one at the hotel, sits in the middle, showering splashing children in what looks like actual water. Paper lanterns and lights hang in the air above them, casting the whole scene in a soft orange light, like sunset. 

 

Her eyes follow her ears until Jyn’s looking at a group of people around her age dancing to the music floating through the air. She scans the small crowd and gasps when she finds the waiter from before to be among them. He’s less formal than he’d been yesterday, trading in the standard uniform for something _tighter._

 

Jyn doesn’t mean to stare, _really,_ but he’s in these sweatpants and a white tank top — and the way he’s rolling his hips to the beat and sliding his hands up and down the woman beside him is borderline _obscene._

 

He looks up, eyes meeting hers, and Jyn freezes. The smile vanishes from his face, a confused sort of frown replacing it as he breaks from the group of dancers to walk her way. 

 

“What are _you_ doing here?” he asks. 

 

She pauses, trying to think up any plausible reason someone from the core would be outside the boundaries of Capital City proper, let alone on Lothal to begin with. Jyn comes up with nothing, so, under the heavy gaze of…Jeron, she thinks his name is, she tells the truth. “I got lost.”

 

“Well _that’s_ for sure,” he says, sizing her up. The sundress and sandals she’s wearing are a dead mark of wealth and Imperial loyalty. No one else can afford the fabrics and leathers the Empire supplies to its supporters, after all. 

 

“I didn’t mean to intrude,” Jyn starts, suddenly feeling dozens of pairs of eyes on her, “but I was exploring the city and must’ve taken a wrong turn. I’ll just — ” she turns on her heels “ — be going.”

 

A warm hand on her shoulder stops her before she can walk away. “Wait, I’ll walk you back. Just give me a sec.”

 

Jyn turns back around and watches as the waiter waves goodbye to the still-dancing group he’d come from. Then, he shakes an older man’s hand, who responds with a nod and, “ _Hasta luego,_ Aach.”

 

_Aach?_

 

He tugs at her elbow to lead her in a different direction than she came from. “I thought your name was Jeron,” Jyn says, looking at him out of the corner of her eye. “That’s what I heard back at the — “

 

Before she can finish, she's being pulled into an alleyway, a hand pressed over her mouth. 

 

“Don’t,” he starts, “say another word.” 

 

He drops his hand and Jyn wants to slap him. “ _What_ are you doing? Are you _insane_?” She’s up on her toes, trying and failing to get at his eye level. 

 

“Sorry, princess,” he says. “But I can’t have you mixing my names up, okay?”

 

“ _Princess_? Who do you think I am?”

 

“I don’t know who you are.” He shoots her a grin that’s half infuriating-half attractive and Jyn wants to slap him even _more._ “That’s why I’m escorting you back to the hotel. Back where you belong.”

 

Jyn crosses her arms. “Well, now I’m not going anywhere.” She stamps her foot in punctuation and immediately regrets it when the nameless waiter laughs. 

 

“You’re not going anywhere?”

 

“No,” Jyn answers. “Not until…until you tell me your real name.”

 

He scoffs. “And why would I do that? I don’t _know_ you.”

 

“Sure you do. You know my name and you know where I live.”

 

“I could get that information out of a datapad, you know,” he says, cocking his head to the side. He looks her up and down in a way that simultaneously makes Jyn want to cover up and take more off. If he’s trying to distract her, it’s _not_ working. So much. 

 

“Will you just tell me your name?” Jyn asks, losing steam. 

 

“Maybe later, princess.” 

 

She huffs, eyes narrowing to slits. “Okay, I’m _not_ some kind of a princess. My father’s an Imperial designer, but that doesn’t make me _royalty_ — “

 

“What did you just say?”

 

Her jaw drops. Does she really need to say it again? “I said I’m _not_ — “

 

“No, before that,” he prods, voice dropping to a near whisper. 

 

“Will you _let me finish_? Gods, I said my father’s an Imperial designer, but I’m _not — “_

 

“Shit.” He takes a step back, runs a hand through his hair, and starts pacing. “Shit, shit, _shit.”_

 

“What?” Jyn scans the area, but it looks fine. No men with guns or stormtroopers hiding in the corner or _anything_ to warrant that kind of reaction. Except…oh, no way. “Oh my gods,” she starts, “you’re with the Rebellion, aren’t you?”

 

“ _Quiet_!”

 

“So that’s a yes?”

 

“You’re going to get us both shot, you know that?” He stop pacing, sizes Jyn up one more time, and adds, “Except you’re with the Empire, so I’ll get shot and you’ll have a fun story to tell your third husband.”

 

“Excuse me? I said my father’s a designer for the Empire, not that I’m _evil incarnate_.”

 

“Because there’s a huge difference,” he fires back. Jyn shoots him a look that makes his face soften — he doesn’t quite look like he’s about to accuse her of shining Darth Vader’s helmet anymore. 

 

“Would you like me to find my own way back to the hotel?” Jyn asks. “Because we’ve been standing in this alley for a while and I really do need to be going.”

 

“No, no, I’ll walk you back. But, look, you can’t,” he starts, eyes darting around her, “tell your parents or…anyone about any of this.”

 

“I won’t,” Jyn says. 

 

“I’m serious, Jyn. People will die if you tell anyone you know about what you saw today.”

 

“I said I won’t tell anyone. What, don’t you trust me?” She's trying for light, airy, to take some of the focus off their… _conflicting affiliations_ , but it comes off too serious. 

 

“We should go,” is all he says. “Before it gets dark.”

 

 

 

 

Jyn arrives at the hotel gates just before sunset. She and… _whatever_ his name is haven’t spoken since the alleyway and when she catches a glimpse of him out of the corner of her eye, he’s deep in concentration. Whatever he’s thinking about can’t be good so she decides to leave well enough alone. 

 

He stops walking as she crosses the threshold onto hotel property. “What’s the matter?” Jyn asks, pausing. 

 

“I’m not supposed to be fraternizing with guests on hotel property,” he answers smoothly. 

 

“Oh, is _that_ what we were doing?”

 

She catches the barest hint of a smile. “Almost.”

 

Jyn stands there for a minute, thinking. She thinks about everything she saw earlier: the vibrancy, the life, the _joy —_ everything the center of the city lacks. Bound to that, of course, is the dancing. _His_ dancing. A warm flush rises to her cheeks and Jyn decides she needs to turn around before she does something stupid. 

 

“Before you go,” Jyn hears behind her, “I have a proposition.”

 

She spins on her heels. A _proposition_? “What sort?”

 

“Kind of a partnership.”

 

A confused sort of noise escapes her throat. 

 

“Look,” he starts, “you have access to information that would be beneficial to me. To the Rebellion. We could use an informant.”

 

“Me? A _spy_?”

 

“Sure.” He shrugs. “Unless you have some deep love of the Empire. But something tells me you don’t.”

 

“What makes you say that?”

 

“Something about trust,” he answers with a wave of his hand. A breeze picks up, whirling through the buildings and trees. Jyn shivers. “Anyway, if you’re amicable, meet me down here tomorrow night. Past eight.”

 

Jyn rubs uselessly at her shoulders. “What do I get out of this?” she asks. “After all, shouldn’t a partnership be mutually beneficial?” She wants to go inside, _should_ go inside, but something keeps her rooted to her spot just beyond the gate.

 

“Of course,” he answers. “I will teach you how to dance like you saw today.”

 

She feels her entire face go red like Coruscant at sunset. “You think I want _that_?” Jyn stammers, willing the color in her cheeks to go away. 

 

“I saw how you were staring.”

 

Oh, gods. “I wasn’t — !“ 

 

“It’s alright,” he cuts her off. He grins, that same infuriating grin from earlier. “I’m sure you don’t get a whole lot of that in the Core.”

 

He has a point. Jyn can ballroom dance — a product of being raised by Imperial elites and Krennic’s penchant for parading her around like an incentive for young upstarts to prove themselves. She certainly can’t do what _they_ were doing. 

 

“You should get inside,” he says, finally noticing the goosebumps covering her bare arms. “But think about it. I’ll be here.”

 

Jyn nods. “I’ll think about it.” She turns, intent on walking away, but then it hits her. “Wait! I still don’t know your name!”

 

He laughs, whole face lighting up. “Find out tomorrow.”

 

 

 

 

The next night, Jyn’s downstairs by the gate at eight sharp. She had to lie to her parents — something about a cultural exposition with a young vacationing senator — to get out of their suite so late at night. She almost went back three times between the elevator and the door. But now she’s here, _almost_ sure she’s ready to help the rebels. 

 

Growing up, her father’s only explanation of his job had been that he _helps keep the bad guys away_. For the first time, Jyn wonders which side he’d been referring to. 

 

Half an hour of waiting later, she sees him cross the courtyard from the kitchens. Moonlight hits him near the pool and Jyn can’t help noticing he looks _good._ Of course, he’s back in the standard hotel uniform, but she watches him unbutton the navy work shirt to reveal another tight, white top underneath. She’s in another sundress, all loose and floral, but regrets not grabbing a sweater on her way out the door. 

 

He notices her and jerks his chin up in greeting. “You came,” he says, reaching the gate. 

 

“I did,” Jyn responds, bracing herself against the wind. 

 

“Here.” He pulls his shirt all the way off and offers it to her. “You look — ” he gives her a once-over and Jyn tries not to squirm under the warmth of his gaze “ — cold.”

 

She nods in appreciation, slipping the fabric onto her shoulders. It’s too big, but still helps with the chill.

 

“Are you ready?”

 

“For what?” Jyn asks. 

 

“For your introduction to the Alliance.” He takes a step back from her and sticks his hand out. “Cassian Andor. Rebel intelligence.” 

 

 _Cassian._ It suits him, Jyn thinks. She takes his hand — warm and calloused — and gives a firm shake, just like her father taught her. “Jyn Erso. Rebel… _informant._ ”

 

Cassian laughs, still holding her hand. “Come on. We’ll go to my shop and get started.”

 

“Shop?”

 

“I’m reprograming an Imperial droid. Don’t tell anyone,” he says, winking. 

 

“You have an awful lot of trust in me,” Jyn notes, eyes trained on their still-joined hands. 

 

“I do,” he says. “Don’t make me regret it.” There’s a more serious note to his voice this time. Jyn nods.

 

He finally lets her hand go and Jyn misses the contact instantly. “Which way, Cassian?” she asks, smiling a little at the sound of his name. 

 

“This way,” he answers, pointing south. “We should get going. Kaytoo’s going to be _thrilled_ to meet you.”

 

Something in his voice makes Jyn think he’s lying, but she lets it slide. They walk side by side and she hopes she hasn’t just made an enormous mistake. Lying to her parents is one thing, but freely giving up information about her father’s job is another entirely. Then again, maybe it’s time for her to make up her own mind about the war. 

 

Maybe it’s time for her to actually _do_ something instead of just reading. 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jyn and Cassian visit his workshop to exchange information. Things get a little heated when Jyn gets her first dance lesson.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LOL @ ME for thinking i could update weekly. it's probably going to be every other week-ish, so please bear with me! we still aren't to the m rating just yet, but i promise it's coming :)

Cassian’s workshop is nothing like Jyn expected. It’s farther away than the square she’d made it to yesterday by twenty minutes or so. The surrounding houses are more spread out — a few actually have yards. They’re still gated, with signs in both Basic and that other language saying in no uncertain terms that trespassing isn’t allowed. 

 

Even so, she spots children poking their heads out, clinging to the thin wrought iron fences and watching them walk by. It occurs to Jyn that they probably don’t get newcomers often. 

 

“It’s just up here,” Cassian says, a hand falling to the small of her back. He leads her around the corner — Jyn _lets_ him — and stops with a small _tah-dah_ escaping his lips. 

 

If Jyn’s being entirely honest, it looks like a shack. Attached to a neighboring house, the clapboard seems held together by the force and tape. “I know,” she hears, “it’s nothing to look at. Inconspicuous, right?”

 

“That’s one way to put it,” Jyn says. 

 

“Not up to your standards, Princess?”

 

Jyn nearly elbows him in the ribs, He _is_ standing close enough, she notes. Instead, she walks forward to the crooked door. “You were saying?” she shoots back, giving a tug.

 

It doesn’t open.

 

Jyn tries again, digging her heel into the dirt and putting more force behind it. Still, nothing. 

 

“You think the door would be there, in plain sight?” Cassian asks, an amused lilt to his voice. 

 

“Okay.” She steps back and turns to face him. “You lead the way, then.”

 

“Happy to.” He moves toward her and rests a hand on her shoulder, turning her in the direction of the main house. When he pulls the door, it opens. Jyn catches his grin out of the corner of her eye. It’s starting to bother her less and less. 

 

Inside, it’s like a house mixed with a shipping yard. Boxes and containers litter the floor and every other horizontal surface. Jyn sees blasters and other weapons on a dining table, an elaborate communication system wired in the corner, and no fewer than a thousand anti-Imperial fliers scattered on the walls. “You _live_ here?”

 

“In the broadest sense of the word, yes.”

 

Cassian walks to a metal door through the kitchen and motions for her to follow. He punches a code into the panel next to it and it slides open, creaking and scraping the entire way. 

 

“This,” he starts, “is my workshop.”

 

Oddly, it looks more normal than the house they just walked through. There’s a workbench littered with tools and scrap metal, a few stools, and a large, fabric covered lump in the middle of the room. 

 

“That’s the droid?”

 

He nods, pulling the sheet off with a flourish. It certainly looks like the droids she grew up with, down to the serial number stamped across one metal arm. _K2-SO._

 

Jyn hears a bright _ping_ , then a dry, “Who’s she?”

 

“Jyn Erso,” Cassian says, “meet Kaytoo. Kay, Jyn Erso.” He gestures in her direction and Jyn tries to look friendly. 

 

“Oh. The Imperial loyalist,” Kay says, eyes blinking on and off. “Cassian, I can’t see a thing.”

 

“Working on it,” he answers, rummaging through the tools on his bench for a screwdriver. “And she’s not a loyalist.”

 

“She’s also right here,” Jyn adds. She feels a little like a lab rat, being stared at through glass. “Hello, Kaytoo.”

 

He doesn’t answer and the lights of his eyes are dark. “He’s a work in progress,” Cassian says. “I figured he’d be more than you’d like to deal with today.”

 

“Probably a safe bet,” she replies, sitting on one of the stools. 

 

They room is silent for a good two minutes, Jyn toying with the hem of her dress and Cassian walking around aimlessly, screwdriver still in hand. She wants to say something. She thinks he does, too. Her mouth opens and closes helplessly. Now, being in his _house,_ Jyn feels nerves start to work their way into a knot in her stomach. 

 

When Jyn thinks the tension in the air can’t possibly get thicker, Cassian speaks. 

 

“So. What do you know?”

 

She looks up and sees he’s got a pen and paper in hand. “What do I know?” she repeats. “Not as much as you’d probably like.”

 

“If you have any information at all,” he starts, “you know more than I do. So, shoot.”

 

Jyn takes a deep breath, wills the lump in her throat to take a hike, and starts. “Well, my father’s never been exceedingly open about his job.”

 

Cassian nods. 

 

“But from what I’ve been able to pick up,” she continues, “they’ve been working on various weapons of mass destruction.” Jyn hears the scratch of pen against paper, working fast. “Uncle Krennic — he’s my father’s boss,” she adds “ — comes over every so often and they just…hide out in an office until whatever business they have is resolved.”

 

“Weapons of mass destruction,” Cassian says, voice controlled. “Do you have any details?”

 

She shakes her head. “I told you, I don’t have that much to offer.”

 

“That’s oaky. It’s a start I didn’t have a day ago.” He offers her the briefest hint of a smile before continuing, “What can you tell me about Krennic?”

 

“Oh, loads,” she says. “He’s been around since I was born. Was always visiting out apartment on Coruscant, actually. I’m pretty sure he’s the one who reassigned my father to Lothal.”

 

“Really?”

 

“I don’t know who else it would be. Why?”

 

“This is a hunch,” Cassian starts, pen tapping against his notebook. “A few months ago I thought we might have had…a spy problem.”

 

“But _you’re_ a spy.”

 

“Astute observation, Jyn.” He rolls his eyes, then laughs to himself. “No, I mean I thought someone had caught onto our operation. Mine, specifically.”

 

“Oh.” She frowns. 

 

“Exactly.”

 

“How does that fit in with Krennic?”

 

“I don’t know that it does,” Cassian says. “It just seems awfully coincidental that a month or so after I think we’ve been caught, you get sent here.”

 

Jyn narrows her eyes. “Are you implying I’m meant to be a spy for the Empire?”

 

“Not exactly — ”

 

“Because you’ve already accused me of being a loyalist once this week, and I really didn’t appreciate it!”

 

“Jyn, that’s not what I was saying.” He sets his pen and pad down, then walks towards her. She’s frowning, arms crossed over her stomach. “But you can’t blame me for my first impression. I mean,” he starts, shrugging, “you just showed up out of the blue, looking like…well, looking like _that_!”

 

“What’s _wrong_ with how I look?”

 

“Nothing! It’s just…you stick out around here.”

 

She uncrosses her arms and softens her glare. “I gathered that, y’know.”

 

“I figured you would. Most folks out here can’t afford to dress like you, not with the Empire controlling the economy.”

 

“That’s not _my_ fault,” she says, breaking eye contact. Something like shame bubbles in her throat. 

 

“Jyn, I know it’s not _you_ personally,” Cassian starts. “But you have to understand where I’m coming from. Where my _people_ come from.” His face is open and sincere, not like he’s lecturing. Jyn thinks back to the children she saw yesterday: they ran free, but their parents paid special attention as soon as she entered the scene.

 

It’s not something she’d experienced on Coruscant. 

 

“Okay.” Jyn nods. “You’re right. I shouldn’t get so defensive.”

 

“This is new to you. You just have to know that not everyone’s going to trust you without some work on your part.”

 

“I want to help. I really do. It’s just going to be an adjustment for me,” she says, eyes trained on the sleeves of Cassian’s shirt — they’re too long for her so she’s got her fingers curled around the cuffed edges. 

 

“I know. This was a good start.” He flashes her a smile. “Honestly.”

 

Jyn stands, nodding at him. She smooths the fabric of her dress and is just about to turn and leave when Cassian puts a hand on her shoulder. 

 

“Where are you going?”

 

“I thought we were done,” Jyn says, acutely aware of the warmth of his hand through the fabric of _his_ shirt around her shoulders. “I don't have anything else.”

 

“No,” he says, smile fading to something a little more mischievous. “But _I_ do.”

 

“Huh — ?” 

 

Before Jyn can say much else, Cassian gets both hands on her waist and spins her so she’s against his chest. “You held up your end of the bargain, so I should hold up mine.”

 

“ _Oh_.”

 

“Unless you don’t want to,” he adds, taking a step back. He leaves his hands on her hips, she notes. 

 

“It’s not that! It’s just…I don’t really know much other than ballroom dancing.”

 

“Hm,” Cassian hums, finally dropping his hands. “I think I know what to do.”

 

 

 

  
They wind up at a bar a few blocks from Cassian’s house. It’s the flashiest building around, but even that isn’t saying much. All that differentiates it from the surrounding homes is a curl of pink neon spelling out _La Cantina Estrella_ above the door. Cassian leads her inside, hand at the small of her back. 

 

He keeps doing that.

 

Inside, loud music fills the air, already heavy with the sheer number of people crammed together. They’re all laughing and moving — in the dim light, it looks like one writhing mass. When Jyn concentrates, she picks out individual couples pressed together, keeping time to the beat. 

 

“You come here often?” she asks, voice raised to be heard over the music. 

 

“ _Huh_?”

 

“I asked,” Jyn starts as the music fades out. She’s suddenly the loudest thing in the building. A flush finds its way to her cheeks. “I asked if you come here often.”

 

“Yes,” Cassian answers, leaning down so only she can hear. “It’s a good place for recruitment. Plus — ” he straightens “ — I know the owner.”

 

As if on cue, a man appears behind then, banging a cane on the ground. “Aach! You’re back.”

 

Right, Jyn reminds herself, he isn’t Cassian to these people. 

 

“It’s good to see you again, Chirrut,” Cassian says, turning to face his friend. “This is Jyn, my partner for the evening.” The ambiguity of _partner_ isn’t lost on her. 

 

“She looks pretty,” Chirrut says, not even facing her. 

 

“Funny,” Cassian replies, turning him in the right direction. “Wanna give that another go?”

 

“I can sense these things, Aach. The force tells me.”

 

“The force?” Jyn asks, suddenly intrigued. “I thought that was a myth.”

 

Chirrut walks away, cane held in front of him. Before he’s completely out of earshot, he says, “You have a lot to learn, Jyn Erso.”

 

She spins around to face Cassian. “How’d he — ?”

 

“Chirrut has his ways,” Cassian answers, cutting her off. “He’s a good friend, if not a little eccentric. Good taste in music, too,” he adds, swaying a little to a new beat. “But let’s not focus on him right now. I have some teaching to do, don’t I?”

 

Jyn nods, feeling too warm in Cassian’s work shirt. She shrugs it off, then ties it around her waist. Bare shouldered, she follows him onto the dance floor. People around them stare, just like they had yesterday. 

 

Cassian has a point. She _does_ stick out like a bounty hunter at a Senate gala. Still, he continues walking until they’re right in the center. 

 

“Okay,” he stars, shouting a little to be heard, “show me what you can do!”

 

She stands still, brow raised. “I thought you were going to _teach_ me.”

 

“To teach you, I need to know what you know, _you know_?”  He laughs a little to himself, then nods, egging her on. 

 

Jyn lets out a helpless noise. “This _is_ what I know!”

 

Cassian frowns. “Really?”

 

“Do I _look_ like I know how to do…any of this?” she huffs, music blaring in her ears. It makes it hard to concentrate.  “I know you don’t think I do, so can we just move past the part where you pretend to be shocked that I can only ballroom dance?”

 

“If you say so, princess.”

 

Jyn growls, but the noise gets caught in her throat when Cassian fits his hands on her hips and pulls her so she’s less than six inches away from him. If she leaned up, Jyn reckons she could kiss him.

 

Not that she wants to.

 

Cassian looks down at her in half-amusement, half-unadulterated _interest._ “Okay, so just follow me,” he says, low. She nods, swallowing the lump in her throat. 

 

He makes a move and Jyn _gasps._ One of his knees parts her legs while a hand leaves her hip to cradle the back of her head. Her hands go from limp at her sides to grasping the front of Cassian’s shirt on instinct alone. He shoots her a look, almost stops and pulls away, but Jyn shakes her head and tugs a little harder at his shirt. 

 

There’s that damn grin again. 

 

Tearing her eyes from Cassian’s mouth, Jyn realizes they’re swaying. Not a lot, but enough to make her feel like she’s actually _dancing_. Before she can get too cocky, Cassian’s dipping her, hand gripping hard at her hip and fingers threading through the dark swirl of hair piled atop her head. 

 

Her knees nearly buckle. Their hips press together while Jyn looks up at Cassian through half-lidded eyes. He _winks_ , that bastard, then pulls her back up to keep swaying — a little faster this time. 

 

Both of his hands travel to her waist, before Cassian says, leaning down to talk in her ear, “Now try moving your hips back and forth.”

 

She does, then he is too, and even though her feet haven’t moved much, Jyn feels like she’s getting it. Well, she’s getting _something,_ if the heat in her stomach whenever her hips meet Cassian’s is anything to go off of. 

 

Jyn lets her hands wander to grab hold of Cassian’s biceps and he looks down at her in surprise. Not wanting to be outdone — like he was in danger of that, Jyn thinks — he pulls her impossibly closer. Their hands are almost joined above her head, her hair is falling loose from its bun, and she feels _alive._

 

The music fades away like a dream. Jyn blinks a few times, the quiet overwhelming, and pulls away. There’s a flush spread all across her chest and the back of her neck is slick with sweat. Without a doubt, this is the least pristine she’s ever been in a public setting. Cassian runs a hand through his hair and clears his throat. 

 

“That was… _good_ ,” he says, after a long pause. 

 

“Yeah?” she breathes, hands flying up to smooth her hair back.

 

“We should probably get going,” Cassian says, spotting a clock on the wall. “It’s…well, later than your family probably thinks you should be out.”

 

“I told them I was going out with a visiting senator,” Jyn says. “But you're right. Senators don’t keep their dates out _quite_ this long.”

 

Cassian scoffs. “Of course, princess.”

 

Outside, the cool night air feels refreshing. Before they head completely in the direction of the hotel, Jyn gives the bar one more glance. “La Cantina Estrela,” she says aloud. “What language is that? I keep seeing it around here.”

 

“First off, it’s _estrella._ The double _l_ sounds like a _y_ in Basic.”

 

“ _Estrella_ ,” she repeats. “What’s it mean?”

 

“Star. The language is Festian, from my home planet. You’ll find it cropping up on a lot of planets with a decent resistance to the Empire.”

 

“Huh. Guess that’s what I keep seeing on the posters you’ve put up.”

 

They finally turn around to walk back to the hotel. “It’s not just me putting them up, but yes.” 

 

The rest of their walk is silent. Jyn watches their surroundings go from cramped and vivacious to the gilded opulence of Capital City. She feels herself walk a little taller, hold her chin a little higher on instinct. 

 

By the same token, she sees Cassian fall from walking by her side to trailing a few steps behind her. It’s fine, she tells herself. Makes it easier to pretend they aren’t conspiring together. Even so, it still feels wrong. 

 

Jyn doesn’t mention it and neither does he. They make it to the hotel gate — where Jyn knows he can’t follow — and both stop. 

 

“Well,” Cassian starts, but doesn’t say anything else. 

 

“Well,” Jyn echoes. 

 

“I guess we shouldn't meet again tomorrow. Might be too suspicious.”

 

“Probably,” she replies, watching his face intently. Something between confusion and disappointment takes over, but disappears before she can blink. He is a spy, after all. “I’ll need time to get more information.”

 

“Of course.”

“And,” Jyn adds, “a senator would wait at least a day before taking me out again, so if I’m sticking with that excuse, we’re going to need some time.”

 

“Yes. I wouldn’t want to impede upon your fictional senator.” She thinks he’s going for humor but it doesn’t quite come across. 

 

 

“He doesn’t mind,” Jyn says, laughing more out of a need to do something to break the tension than at her joke. Cassian cracks a little smile, then reaches out for her. 

 

For a split second, Jyn thinks he’s going to kiss her. For a split second, Jyn _wants_ him to kiss her. 

 

For a split second, Jyn lets herself linger on the things she felt at the bar. 

 

But then he’s untying his shirt from her waist and pulling it away. She misses the weight of the fabric immediately. 

 

“I need this for tomorrow,” Cassian says, slinging it over an arm. 

 

“Oh, of course,” Jyn stammers. Have a nice evening, Cassian.” She nods, pats his arm, then turns quickly towards the door inside. 

 

Inside, she groans. _Fuck,_ he’s growing on her. It’s been _two_ days. “Gods only know how I’ll make a fool out of myself a week down the road,” she says to herself, climbing the grand staircase to the Erso suite. 

 

Thankfully, the light’s out when she gets inside. Jyn’s able to slip into bed without having to deal with an interrogation from her parents. That’ll come tomorrow, she thinks. She’ll be able to deal with it tomorrow. 

 

A good night’s sleep will be good in the meantime. It’ll clear her head. 

 

Hopefully. 

 

 

 

 

The next morning, Jyn joins her father for breakfast. Her mother’s already out for the day, but Jyn knows her father has meetings on and off all day. 

 

“Morning, Papa.”

 

“Morning, Stardust” he answers, scrolling through a datapad while nursing a cup of caf. “You got in late last night.”

 

“I did,” she says, sitting down with a mug of tea. “I lost track of time.”

 

“Is this boy that interesting?”

 

“He is,” Jyn replies, not realizing she’s supposed to be thinking about her fictional senator. “But that’s a story for another time,” she adds, correcting. “I was actually hoping we could talk about you.”

 

“Oh?” he asks, looking up. 

 

“Well, your job, more specifically. It occurred to me I don’t know what you’re actually up to these days.”

 

He sets his caf down. “It’s mostly classified, Jyn.”

 

“Oh, of course,” Jyn says. Maybe it’s fatherly intuition, but he must sense her disappointment. 

 

“Tell you what, I’ll let you talk to the man I’m expecting from Eadu later today.”

 

“You’re expecting someone?”

 

“Yes. Krennic’s sending a pilot to act as a messenger between the two of us while we work on this project. It’s a big one, after all.”

 

Her heart drops. _Big_ project? In _weapon_ designs? That can’t be good. Jyn’s too busy thinking of ways to tell Cassian about this as soon as possible to hear the rest of her father’s speech. 

 

“…Bodhi Rook, he’s called. I think he’s about your age. You might get along with him pretty well, actually. Could give that senator of yours a run for his money.”

 

While her father laughs, Jyn stands abruptly. “I have to go.”

 

“What? Why, Stardust?”

 

When she says she isn’t sure, it’s not even a lie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments are love! feel free to come yell about rebelcaptain with me on tumblr (baenakinskywalker)

**Author's Note:**

> Than you so much for reading! If you liked it, please comment/kudos/bookmark to let me know you want more <3


End file.
